


Almost

by ace_unavailable



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst?, Destiel Fluff, Destiel if you squint - Freeform, Fluff, M/M, angel!cas - Freeform, early morning, human!Cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-10-04 03:27:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17296865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ace_unavailable/pseuds/ace_unavailable
Summary: It’s moments like these when Dean wishes Cas were human again. Moments where it’s a near-perfect imitation, so close you almost don’t even notice it, like the way a man goes one hundred Tuesdays with maple syrup and then, one day, it’s blueberry. Almost. Almost, but not quite.





	Almost

It’s moments like these when Dean wishes Cas were human again. Moments where it’s a near-perfect imitation, so close you almost don’t even notice it, like the way a man goes one hundred Tuesdays with maple syrup and then, one day, it’s blueberry. Almost.  
These moments when they’re lying in the motel room, Sam in the bed across from him and Cas sleeping on the couch, that’s when he catches the almost. Moments when, if he holds his breath, the only one left breathing is Sam, snoring lightly with his arm tucked under the pillow, a slight frown facing Dean.  
It’s dark in the motel room, the first pale shafts of light sneaking through the cracks around the flimsy paper shades. Dean can still make out the stubble on Cas’ chin, though.  
Curious, really, how the angel closes his eyes now, after those brief three months as a human. Suddenly the bed space next to Dean feels cold. He misses the warmth of his best friend beside him. Misses his breath on the back of his neck. Hell, he even misses being the little spoon.  
Not that he’d ever tell Sam that.  
And then, for the first time in what seems like decades… Dean prays. Only to Castiel. He’s not even sure if the angel lying on the couch can hear him.  
He prays anyways. He prays for the empty bed, he prays for the dirty motel room, he prays for those annoying shafts of light to get out of his goddamn face and –  
“Dean.” It’s Cas. Standing over him, at the foot of the bed. It’s familiar, the way his silhouette casts a shadow across the bedsheets and a halo around his shoulders and head. “Dean.”  
Dean’s mind returns from wandering, as it seems to do so often early in the morning. The dust motes swirl lethargically in a stray beam of light that’s landed softly next to his left arm.  
“Yeah, Cas?” Gruffly. As if he’s bothered, annoyed, by the angel’s presence. He’s not, but… he keeps up appearances. For Sam.  
“I heard you.”  
“Hm?” Dean turns to face Cas abruptly, tossing himself into the air, but it’s the way that he throws the grunt over his shoulder with a single raised eyebrow and quirked lips that gives him an air of nonchalance. The cheap bed creaks slightly with every shift of his body.  
“I heard you praying.” It’s hard to make out Cas’ face in the dark, with his back to the light, but Dean thinks his brow is furrowed, pouting slightly in a familiar disgruntled expression.  
Disgruntled, says his mouth. Worried, say his eyes.  
“Oh.” Dean doesn’t have much else to say. He finds his eyes drifting to the empty bed beside him.  
Cas fills the space before he even has the chance to say anything.  
“I heard you praying,” the angel repeats, arms wrapped around Dean and chest pressed to his back. “I heard you praying.”  
Dean closes his eyes again, ready to fall into the rhythm of sleep, when he feels something hot against his neck.  
Breath.  
But it’s different. Wrong. He can’t pin it down, but there’s something off about it.  
Almost. Almost, but not quite.


End file.
